Inversion

The thralls actually arrived before sunset, so Cain had to make himself scarce in a back room while the half-fae coordinated their arrival. Although Fae were not averse to sunlight the way that vampires were, both demons and unseelie fae tended to prefer dark, cool spaces to the bright brilliance of sunlight. It was easier to work with the Winter Court for that reason - the Summer Court was far more partial to bright sunlight and daytime activities, which were fairly antithetical to how vampires operated.

When the thralls were settled in and the door closed, Cain finally stepped back into the room to find the thralls staring with undisguised interest at the very handsome half-incubus who had invited them inside. Internally, Cain cursed his enhanced hearing abilities, because he had a feeling that there was going to be some… feeding… happening in the other room before long, and he was going to be a passive observer to the proceedings, even if he sat in another room.

"Well?" the man was saying, glancing between the two thralls and then pausing to cast a glance in Cain's direction too. "Shall we make it a foursome?"

Cain lifted his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. "None for me, thanks," he said quickly.

The thralls seemed to slump a little at this statement, as if they'd genuinely wanted Cain to join in. He couldn't imagine why. Maybe they thought there would be a feeding involved? But even if Cain wanted to feed directly from a human (which he still did not want), he wouldn't be able to at the moment, because he still had a stomach full of lingering blood that refused to do what it was meant to be doing.

"Your loss," the half-incubus said, then turned to the thralls with a grin. "Well?"

After exchanging glances, the thralls looked at Cain. "May we?" one of them asked quietly.

"If you want to," Cain said, gesturing vaguely, "go ahead."

The thralls both turned and nodded excitedly at the half-fae, who grinned at this, winking smarmily at Cain before walking both thralls towards the other room. "We might be awhile," he said to Cain, clearly gloating, as he pulled open the door.

That was fine for him. Cain wasn't interested anyway. "Take your time," he said to the half-incubus. Then, he added, "Have fun," though he was addressing the thralls this time.

"We will," said the man, and winked again. Cain was beginning to wonder if it was actually a nervous tick.

The man and the thralls disappeared into the other room, and Cain mentally prepared himself for some very awkward listening material.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Cain couldn't afford to let the thralls waste an entire night with the Winter Court's half-incubus representative. He'd managed to get the man to agree to a 'quick' feeding, which apparently took about three hours. Cain wisely chose not to comment on how much stamina that would require, in part because he himself had not been particularly active in that regard back when he was human, and even less so after being turned. He'd been quite young at the time of his turning, and he wasn't all that experienced. He wasn't sure what he would manage to do with himself for three hours, much less a partner. But he certainly wasn't going to ask the incubus for advice. In no small part because the man probably would expect some sort of payment in return. The Fae never gave anything away for free.

In any case, the man was true to his word, and reappeared about three hours after he and the thralls had sequestered themselves away. The thralls looked… ahem. Like they'd spent three hours in a room with a lust demon. And the lust demon looked smug. Cain supposed if he'd spent three hours satisfying two human women he'd look pretty smug himself. If that were something he knew anything about, or had any interest in achieving, anyway. Which he rather didn't.

"Thank you," the man said, as much to the thralls as to Cain. He looked Cain up and down appraisingly. "You're certain you're not interested?"

Cain had enough trouble with hangers-on at the castle. The last thing he needed was some Fae hanging all over him, too. "Certain," he replied. He turned to the thralls. "Ready?"

"Yes, Sir Einhardt," one of the thralls answered.

Cain wasn't sure how thralls who had spent most of their time with Thomas had found their way to that title, but he wasn't in the mood to correct anyone. So, he mentally waved aside the excessively polite form of address and focused on the task at hand. "Let us be off, then," he said.

"Be careful as you go," the incubus warned, as Cain and the two thralls made their way to the door. "The warriors who escorted your thralls here mentioned sighting what could be signs of bandits in the area."

Cain had a feeling those 'bandits' were more likely some Fae trick waiting to catch him unawares than actual human ruffians, but he also knew better than to accuse this man of such a thing. Instead, he simply said, "I appreciate the information."

There was a gleam in the man's eye as he said, more seriously, "Just… be on your guard."

Cain wasn't sure if the man was supposed to tell him about a potential bandit attack or not. He was beginning to suspect the man was telling him more than he was supposed to. "I will," he promised.

"Maybe come back sometime, if you're looking for a good time," the incubus added.

"I'll consider it," Cain answered. He highly doubted anything would come of his considerations, but he least he could do was think about the odd half-fae from time-to-time.

"We'd love to come back," one of the thralls said, still sounding a bit dazed.

The half-incubus tossed her a smarmy wink in response. The young woman giggled.

"Let's go," Cain said, worried that if they lingered much longer he may be forced to sit through a second round of feeding.

"Yes, sir," both thralls answered immediately.

"Thank you, again," Cain said to the half-incubus.

"Anytime," the man replied.

With that, Cain ushered the two thralls out the door, and readied himself for a possible attack. The moon was bright overhead - not full, but nearing it - and the wind whipped through the trees like half-mad whispers. It was hard, even for Cain's vampiric senses, to make out anything through the background rustles of the forest.

That was likely why, despite the warning, Cain didn't hear the "bandits" until it was too late.

They came from downwind, so they knew he was a vampire. This would have been surprising, if it wasn't clear they were hired thugs sent by the Winter Court to intercept and re-acquire the thralls they'd stolen. Not only were the "bandits" bankrolled by the Winter Court, it was obvious that they were hired specifically to come after Cain and the two thralls he was accompanying. How did he know this? Because the crew had been specifically kitted out to fight a vampire, bearing blessed weapons and a full waterskin of holy water. All of this was truly unfortunate for Cain, as he was in no condition to fight a team that was prepared to face a vampire, while the team was more than adequately prepared to fight one sickly vamp.

The first attack came as a total surprise, a blade flashing in the moonlight his only warning. It was just enough for him to throw his body to the side, the dagger leaving a gash along his side instead of piercing his chest. The bandits were on them, then, grabbing the thralls and pinning their arms to their sides, holding them back as three more advanced on Cain.

Hand pressed to his side, Cain tried to think, barely able to ignore the burn of the holy implement's slice through his unholy flesh. It wasn't fair that the blessed weapon still burned, since his blood was becoming pure. His blood-hunger was inverting, but as with Thomas and all the others Cain had fought, unholy flesh was still tainted, and holy weapons worked quite well against it.

The bandits brandished a small arsenal of weapons, and Cain could smell the blessing on them. They were mostly weapons from Veruu - the god of ice and silence, patron of the Unseelie - and smelled as cold as a fresh morning frost. The iciness trailed behind the burn, leaving an unsettling numbness and weakness in its wake. The blessing of Veruu was not one to be trifled with, not any more than any other god. But there was something deeply unsettling about the silence of the blades.

He wouldn't have known the attack was coming at all, if not for the moonlight.

Sparing a glance upward, Cain thought to himself, Next time, I'll threaten less and beg more. If there would even be a next time. It was, perhaps, wishful thinking on his part.

The next few minutes pushed Cain to the extent of his limits and then some. His only blessing was that the bandits were clearly humans, and not Fae. This meant that the Winter Court was not yet interested in actively declaring war. It also meant that even if Cain died here, no one would care. Except maybe the werewolf pup. But he'd likely slip into a listless sleep until some other vampire came along and enthralled him, or he found relief in some other person's scent. Surely Cain wasn't the only thing keeping him here in the land of the living.

Although, if he were, perhaps the moon would do more to help. Brinn seemed especially distant, as Cain fought fiercely with claw and fang, taking more shallow injuries but barely escaping the worst of the attacks. Eventually, he was able to get his hands on one of the weapons, dropped when the first bandit went down, permanently.

It burned as he held it, the entire sword having been blessed. But he ignored the pain, the icy chill that curled into his fingers, weakening his grip the longer he held it. He swung wildly, parrying and striking, eventually landing another vicious blow, and sending a second bandit to the ground. The strike left him open, though, and he felt another sword biting into his ribcage, spreading cold through his whole body with the force of the blow.

Cain dropped his blessed sword and dropped to his knees, black blood bubbling at his lips. He was surprised, despite himself, to discover it hadn't turned red yet - he would have been freed from the bond with his sire, if his blood had really been made pure. It wasn't fair, that he was suffering only the negative elements of the blood-purification, but none of the positive aspects.

At least he still wasn't hungry, he mused. Blood hunger made a vampire stupid. Usually, the bleeding and injury would have made him mad with thirst by now. Any vampire would be. But somehow, his hunger remained as still in him as it had been from the start. The dead bandits' blood didn't call to him at all. In fact, the smell of it sickened him.

The third bandit, throwing caution to the wind, clearly experienced with fighting vampires, kicked Cain towards the corpses. "Go on, blood-eater!" he snarled. "You know you want to!"

There was probably something in the humans' blood. Thrice-blessed holy water, maybe? Cain knew most vampires would be desperate by now. Would be unable to resist the pull of the blood. But he wasn't hungry at all.

That being said, it was an opportunity, so Cain left his sword on the ground and crawled for the second bandit, fumbling with the body.

It took the third bandit a moment to realize that Cain's fangs hadn't sunk into the dead man's flesh. But that moment was all Cain needed. He rolled over to look at the bandit and sneered, watching realization replace the man's hateful expression.

Then, Cain threw one of the two daggers he'd salvaged from the dead man's sheaths. It hit the human between the eyes, and he went down, as silent as the blessed blade that took his life. Cain didn't wait for the other two bandits to process what had happened. He threw the second dagger, once more finding its mark in the head of one of the two bandits holding the thralls back.

The final bandit saw how the tides had turned, and released the thrall. He'd likely been planning to run, but before he could move more than a few steps, Cain was on him, the retrieved blessed sword flashing in the pale moonlight.

Then it was over, and Cain sank to his knees, breathing heavily. Black blood trickled down his side, marring his coat, staining his shirt. It bubbled at his lips as he panted, feeling the crackle of blood in his undead lungs. He didn't need to breathe, he'd been told that time and time again, but it still felt a little like he was drowning.

His hands were cold and shaking. He'd dropped the sword once the deed was done, but the burns it left behind looked like the worst sort of frostbite, blackening his palms and the inner parts of his fingers. He hoped the holy taint wouldn't spread or he might lose both hands.

He was severely wounded, and he wasn't hungry.

That was his last thought before he pitched forward, the darkness of unconsciousness consuming him.